Why would I need you?
by Headcanonftw
Summary: A collection of fluffy Johnlock drabbles. First one describes how Sherlock ended up in his bed after Irene drugged him in Scandal of Belgravia. Lots of cute!Sherlock.
1. Why would I need you?

"Come on, stop messing about and help me would you!" I yell to Greg, desperately trying to haul the world's only consulting detective up the stairs of 221B Baker Street. Greg returns his phone quickly to his pocket and rushes to my aid, joining me in attempting to drag a stumbling Sherlock up to the flat, which is proving to be an immensely difficult task.

"Jaaawn!" Sherlock moans, slumping to the floor, refusing to move any more, he reaches up to his face touching it, like he's trying to check if it was still there, "Jawn, my face it's weird," he whines, covering his whole face in his hands. "Pointy." he tells me while poking his cheekbones. I pick him up from under his armpit, Greg does the same and we manage to get him into our living room. He stands up as if he is stable, he wobbles a bit, then collapses and falls face first onto the floor with a thump.  
"Let him sleep it off, get him in his room," says Greg, chuckling at the misfortune of the detective lying at his feet. Once we'd hoisted Sherlock off the ground and into his bedroom, we dump his limp body on his bed where he curls up into a ball. "I'll leave you to sort him out," says Greg over his shoulder as he leaves the room, still chuckling. Neither me nor Sherlock move or make a sound, until I hear the final slam of the front door as Lestrade leaves the flat.

I sigh, looking at my intoxicated flatmate and perch at the end of his bed. I feel a tug at my jumper sleeve, which Sherlock is desperately clinging on, having rolled off the bed. He then proceeds to roll around on the floor mumbling nonsense to himself. "Sherlock, get up!" I say, exasperated. He comes back with a definite, "No!" Sherlock Holmes: The world's only consulting five year old. I haul his limp body back onto the bed, making him sit up and remove his suit jacket. After that, and slipping off his shoes, I get him tucked into bed after a rambling speech about his curly locks which Sherlock conducted himself.

Eventually, he quietens down on his way to sleep. As I go to head out the room, Sherlock leans up, pulling me back onto the bed. "Sherlock, what the -?" I begin, before being shushed tenaciously. Sherlock pulls me even closer, clutching my body tightly. "Sherlock—" I try again, as he nuzzles his head gently against my chest. I sigh, knowing there in no point in arguing with him. He smiles, content that he has got his own way. I allow myself to relax into the hug, quite enjoying the warmth from Sherlock's strong arms. The taller man's eyes begin to droop, and his grip loosens as Sherlock grows limp. I smile at him, easing my limbs away from where they had been entangled. Now able to move, I look towards Sherlock with a grin. He looks so…innocent, cute even, when he is asleep. Slowly, so as to not rouse him, I pull his duvet back up and tuck him in again.

I stand up and head towards the door, when I hear a little voice, "John...?" Huffing, I spin back around, "What?" I ask, annoyed now. Sherlock smiles, gazing up at me with his glorious blue eyes. "Thank you Jawn" My whole face softens, I allow myself to smile, "Anytime." I say nodding. Making my way back to the door I smirk to myself, amused. Then I hear, "Jawn!"  
"Yes?" I reply, looking back around without moving back over to the bed. "We are friends aren't we John?" I roll my eyes, "Yes of course we are, the best of friends." I say in a patronising fashion, my voice monotone.

Finally, I walk away and get to the door, opening it and stepping out into the hallway. Once more I hear, "John?" shaking my head, I poke my head round the door, "What is it Sherlock?" He sits up on his forearms and says, "I love you John." before sinking back into his pillows. I have fight my impulses so I don't reply with the same. He's drugged, he doesn't mean it. What if I say the same and he remembers this whole bloody night? Things could really get awkward. I resort to, "Of course you do, good night." leaving him to sleep off this strange, drugged persona so he can return to the man who I call my best friend.

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**Written by_ Vicky_ and edited by_ Lucy_**

**Please Review :)**


	2. Lightening Storms

All furniture and objects were lit up in the room by the sudden bright flashes of lightning. These were then accompanied by roars of thunder. Coldness had swept across the coastline, the usual mugginess and thickness that hung in the air during such storms was not present, this storm was chilling.

John Watson lay on his back in bed, his hands behind his head. His usual sleeping routine was never perfect, as he was always haunted by the trauma and depression that war gave a man. Even though he struggled to get to sleep at the best of times, tonight was harder due to the vast scale of this horrific storm which captivated this area of coastline. John turned and looked at his watch which he had placed on the bedside table earlier in the night. It read "02:30". John hoped Sherlock wouldn't be dragging him out of bed unwillingly early in the morning for more information on this fucking case he's suddenly so interested in. For fucks sake, he was in a B&B room in Devon. Where the hound from hell was on the loose and the owners of where they were staying had already made several gay jokes. Yes, this case wasn't one of John's favourites. Out of the silence, a particularly loud shatter of thunder shook the building, making John flinch.

Whilst he lay back down on his back to settle back to sleep, he heard the sound of feet hurrying his way and a door opening, his door. "How the bloody hell did I forget to lock my door to a hotel room? Anyone could get in" he thought, scorning himself. John wasn't too worried though, as he knew it was going to be Sherlock. After living with him for 3 years he knew that he had to expect to be disturbed by Sherlock at all hours. Having once been woken up as Sherlock had only recently found out about global warming and felt the need to sit on the end of my bed and rant about it for 2 hours. Seriously. He could be so ignorant about such things sometimes. On this occasion, John decided he could expect anything as he sat up and looked at his door to see Sherlock Holmes stood in the doorway in one of his most famous dressing gowns. They seriously are famous though, thought John. He had people contact him through his blog asking if they could buy them. Them only having seen them because Sherlock often just forgets to dress and leaves the house dressed indecently, and rarely any clothes at all if he retires to the armchair in Baker Street. But all the fangirls were interested in his dressing gowns, even though Sherlock was asexual they still didn't understand that and he still has a large female fan base. "Brainy is the sexy" they say. Why must they quote Irene Adler's tweets?

When Sherlock was stood in his blue dressing gown in the doorway, he had a look of panic struck on his face. Then with his puppy dog eyes he looked at John and said, "I'm scared John." John had to stop himself from spluttering and laughing right there and then. "And what do you expect me to do about it Sherlock? It's a storm, I know as much as you do that it's a bugger to sleep through." Sherlock came and sat at the end of John's bed. He had clearly been restless as his curls were sticking up in every direction and were even more messy than usual. Looking through his big soft eyes at John he asked turning his head to the side, "Can I sleep in your bed?". John looked so confused, "Come on Sherlock you're not five years old. You're a grown man, I know it's hard to believe sometimes but..." Sherlock looked at John with longing eyes and John gave over. John moved the duvet and signalled for him to lie down in space next to him. Sherlock lay in his spot, a smug look on his face as he nuzzled into the pillow. They soon both went to sleep without another word.

John woke up to a stiff shoulder. Stretching, he turned uncomfortably to the time. 07:30. Still pretty early. He turned to his other side to see the world's only consulting detective tucked under his arm, lying on John's chest, sound asleep. John couldn't help but smile at the fact his presence had reassured Sherlock. Feeling rather good about himself, he put his hand through those soft brunette curls and settled back down to sleep.


End file.
